


Silence

by espioc



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst, Conversations, Cyclonus has a hard time articulating, I Tried, M/M, Sort Of, tailgate is frustrated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-16 01:14:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13625448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espioc/pseuds/espioc
Summary: Tailgate just wants Cyclonus to talk to him sometimes.





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> for morte-mistrata on Tumblr.

Cyclonus was distant. And yet, so much closer it seemed. He sat closer, stood closer, and, though silent, his steely glare spoke volumes. 

Tailgate would stare at him, though that was nothing new. Recently tailgate found himself doing it more often. Tailgate would scan the sharp handsome features of his roommate. Or more than roommate. For a while they had been “more than roommates.” Something close to friends. But after the incident there was more there. Something more that made Cyclonus reach across the gap between their berths and brush Tailgates fingers with his claws. 

Tailgate was familiar with the feeling. Those claws had touched his fingers as he laid dying, and they had grasped his hand when he lay unconscious after his ill-advised encounter with Megatron. Who had apologized, according to Rodimus. Cyclonus didn’t seem to pay too much mind to that. Which didn’t surprise Tailgate. Cyclonus didn’t seem too fond of Megatron. 

Tailgate  _ thought _ he understood why. From what he could grasp of Cybertron’s history for the past four million years, Megatron had taken part in destroying the one thing Cyclonus truly loved: his home planet. Cybertron, as it was once known. So Cyclonus’ hatred, or mere dislike, for a figure like Megatron, like everyone else’s, was well justified. Unlike most people’s though, Cyclonus didn’t mention it much. 

Though then again, he never did mention much of anything. Tailgate wondered why that was. Why Cyclonus chose to bottle his feelings, only letting them out in small gestures, like innermost energon. Or big gestures like taking a thousand bullets to the back. If Tailgate didn’t spill his feelings there was an itch there. Cyclonus had once said, albeit harshly, that Tailgate talked.  _ Primus _ did he talk. And at that point Cyclonus didn’t care. 

Now, however, as they sat in the bar, Cyclonus listened. He sipped at his drink and offered an ear. Tailgate could never tell if he was paying any real attention. During the short conversations they had in private Tailgate had an easier time gaging how much he was listening. Cyclonus spoke during those times. Softly, and with few words, but he spoke. Tailgate liked the sound of his voice. It was calming. 

Nary a word was shared between them during the day, despite how close Cyclonus stayed. Which is why he felt an arms reach a million miles away. Tailgate or anyone could ask him a question and he would answer. That he only did out of politeness. 

Tailgate could respect that Cyclonus was the “strong silent” type. That was his nature and Tailgate didn’t try too hard to push anything else on him. There were moments, though, when it became tiring. Tailgate knew how much Cyclonus cared for him because of his actions, but there were occasions when Tailgate wanted to know what Cyclonus was thinking. What went through his mind when he stared out the window for hours? What lead him to take Tailgate’s hand? How did he really feel about Megatron? Did he think he was going to die because of the incident? Did he think Tailgate was? 

There was thought there. Tailgate saw it through the sneers and hard gazes, and the scoffs and stoic faces. Through the silence. Tailgate was tempted to ask Cyclonus so many questions he knew the warrior wouldn’t answer. Cyclonus was very good at dancing around answers. 

But Tailgate was persistent, and if he could get his thoughts in order he could take the lead in this dance. One night he tried. 

It was a night when Cyclonus turned in his berth to face Tailgate. Tailgate pretended to be asleep as Cyclonus carefully reached across the distance between them and took the smaller bot’s hand. 

Tailgate just barely onlined his optics. 

“Why do you do this?” he asked quietly, gripping Cyclonus fingers so he couldn’t get away. 

It took Cyclonus a moment to answer. In that moment Tailgate feared he wouldn’t. 

“I want to make sure you’re still there,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in the dark. 

Tailgate perked a little at the answer, but kept himself calm. “Where do you think I’m going?” he asked, already assuming the answer. 

“I don’t know,” Cyclonus admitted. “Somewhere that is no longer beside me.” 

Tailgate wanted to think up another question, but he felt a little frazzled. Unsure of what would keep Cyclonus talking. If anything could keep him talking. Trying to keep his voice level Tailgate asked. “Do you enjoy having me beside you?”

To which Cyclonus replied simply. “Yes.”

It was a surprisingly candid answer. One Tailgate, despite his assumptions, had not prepared himself for. If Tailgate were being honest with himself he’d say he was almost giddy. It was a good thing he was already laying down. 

Another question came to mind. One Tailgate was sure was hit or miss. 

“Cyclonus. Are you afraid of losing me?”

Tailgate waited a long time for an answer. Those sharp deadly claws were gentle against his smaller hand, not even leaving a mark where they stroked. 

Cyclonus never answered the question. 

 

* * *

 

“Cyclonus isn’t big on words, panic legs, I’m surprised that surprises you,” Whirl said, balancing a drink on his claw. 

Tailgate shrugged. “It’s not surprising.”

“Remind me why you’re here again?”

“You talk to him, right? I mean, he talks to you more than he talks to me. I want to know how you do it.”

Whirl let his cup drop, spilling the purple contents on the table top. “How I do it? It’s not some magic trick, if he wants to talk he comes to me. I don’t really make much of a conscious effort to “talk” to many people. It’s not like he and I have ever been the best of friends.”

“But he came to you, didn’t he?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“That night. With--with Getaway and Megatron. He came to you, didn’t he?”

Whirl narrowed his optic. “He might have. But not out of friendship if that’s what you’re implying.” 

“What did he say?”

Whirl tapped at his chin. “I don’t know if I should sa-” He put his claw flat on the table. “He said he cared about you. All that mushy stuff. Not really my thing, but if you came to me because you’re worried he’s losing interest than I’ll tell you you’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

Tailgate’s fingers fiddled with his glass. “That’s good. But I already knew that,” he muttered.

“The what do you want from me?”

Tailgate shrugged. “I don’t know!” he admitted. “Those- things, that he refuses to say to me! I’m not the best at reading signals, I don’t know what he wants.”

Whirl tapped a claw atop the table, debating on whether or not to speak. Eventually he did. “I may not the best- with the whole feelings scrap. Or people. But I want to say you can rest knowing that all he really wants is y-” he stuttered a bit, trying to force the work. “Ugh. You! There, I said it!” He shuddered. “I think thats enough sap for me.” He stood from the booth and stepped towards the door. “If you need someone to talk about your feelings with again try Cyclonus next time.” 

Tailgate watched him go. 

That had been...not as helpful as he’d hoped. The again Whirl really wasn’t the best bot to go to when one wanted to talk about their feelings. But he was still the only one on the ship Tailgate considered a real friend to Cyclonus. Besides himself. 

Tailgate sipped at his curly straw. This situation was frustrating, but treating it like a mystery to be solved probably wasn’t the best course of action. Then again, moving in and accepting it might not have been the best plan either. All Tailgate wanted was for Cyclonus to speak to him, was that so much to ask? Was it so difficult for an old warrior to have one moment of weakness and spill his feelings to someone he seemed to love? 

That was the word. “Seemed.” Tailgate could only assume. And while his assumption was based on almost undeniable evidence that didn’t stop him from feeling the need to hear it. Hear Cyclonus say that he cared. Hear him say it like he said it to Whirl. 

In some ways Tailgate felt selfish for that. So much action and all he could concentrate on was a few measly words. A few words that probably meant less when compared to everything Cyclonus had done. Not only that, but trying to force him to speak would only make Cyclonus do something he either doesn’t want to, or isn’t ready to do. And Tailgate wouldn’t want to do that to him. 

Still, there was an itch. 

Tailgate put his drink down with some intent, accidentally leaving a dent in the table. For a moment his confidence was flustered away by the accident. Tailgate quickly covered it up with his hands to concentrate on his thoughts. 

That night he would speak to Cyclonus, and he wasn’t going to give up until Cyclonus spoke back. No matter how long that took. 

 

* * *

 

They were preparing to go to recharge. Cyclonus stood by the window while Tailgate sat on his berth staring at him. Taigate’s spark beat hard against his chest plate, almost begging him not to do it. But Tailgate did his best to sate the fear and panic, knowing, or at least hoping he knew, that there was nothing in this room to be afraid of. 

Tailgate took in a deep vent before leaping off the berth. With fiddling fingers he walked over to stand behind Cyclonus. 

“Cyclonus?” he said, his voice smaller than he intended it to be. 

Cyclonus glanced over his shoulder but didn’t say anything. Tailgate took that as his cue to speak. Still nervous Tailgate tapped his fingers together. “I was hoping I could...  _ talk _ to you about something. Something that’s been bothering me a bit.”

Cyclonus turned fully to the smaller bot. “What is it?” 

Tailgate forced his arms to his side and stood a little taller. “I want to talk to you. I mean really talk to you.” His confidence faltered a bit with his posture. “And- I was hoping you could do the same.”

Cyclonus quirked a brow. “I don’t understand.”

“I always do all the talking,” Tailgate blurted out. “I dump my feelings and you just  _ stand there _ . Like nothing is happening. And sometimes- I don’t know what to do with that.”

“You want me to talk to you more.”

The tone was blunt and neutral. Tailgate couldn’t tell what the statement was supposed to be. So he just nodded. 

“About what?” 

At that question Tailgate was taken back a bit. About what!? What does he mean about what!? 

But Tailgate kept his cool, and instead said, “Just- anything. Your day. Your feelings-” he hesitated before the next one. “Us. Together. Are we together? I mean, more than friends or roommates? I can’t tell. You need to help me with that.”

Cyclonus remained silent after that. He appeared to be thinking so Tailgate waited. And kept waiting. Until he got tired of it. 

“See?” he said. “This. You do this. All the time. I ask a question and I don’t get an answer. Why- why do you do that!?” Tailgate was surprised by how upset he was getting in such a short amount of time.  

Cyclonus, of course, didn’t even flinch. For a moment he just stared at Tailgate before finally getting some words out. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Say anything.”

“I don’t think just anything will help you. What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me you care about me.” 

Cyclonus paused. His mouth opened as if to speak but nothing came out. Then he muttered. “I’d assumed you already knew that.”

“I do-” Tailgate said a bit too quickly. “Or I think I do. And I know you’ve done a lot. But I need to hear it.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Tailgate thought on it for a moment. After a second he shrugged. “Maybe just- so I can convince myself it’s real. And I’m not just dreaming it up,” at the end he muttered. “I’ve been tricked before.” 

“With words,” Cyclonus said, surprising Tailgate. He looked up at the taller bot. 

“What?”

Cyclous seemed hesitant to speak again. “I said. With words.” 

Tailgate furrowed his brow. “With- words?” he inquired slowly, trying to catch it’s meaning. “What do you mean?”

“I’m saying Getaway- he coerced you with flattery and words...I don’t want to do the same.”

Tailgate shook his head. “Are you comparing yourself to him? Why would you do that?” he put his hand up, pausing that part of the conversation. “You know what? I really don’t feel like talking about that. I think I’ve heard enough about it. We’re talking about us right now.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing to talk about!?”

“I just mean nothing to say that hasn’t already been made clear.” 

At that Tailgate paused. Every doubt in his mind seemed to be teetering on the edge, and he began to wonder if he was overreacting. If all of this stress was for naught and everything Cyclonus did translated to his true feelings. Then he felt stupid, because of course it did. One doesn’t just take a thousand bullets to the back and not care about the someone they’re protecting. He doesn’t fight one of the fiercest former warlords to ever grace the cosmos without some essence of care for the person he’s fighting for. 

On the foot of a deathbed he does not sing softly to sooth the panic. And he does not share his spark, the life light of his own being. 

One who does not care does not do what Cyclonus does. So no matter how confusing his actions were, or how silent he fell, Cyclonus made it clear--very clear--how much he cared. Even in the small things. The touches. The closeness. 

Tailgate felt stupid for not realizing it earlier. For that itch for those words getting the better of him and throwing doubt into the ring. 

In a rare moment of his own silence Tailgate stepped forward and took Cyclonus by the hand. Without a word he lead them to the berth. Cyclonus followed without question, and, once at the side of it, scooped Tailgate into his arms and laid them down. For Tailgate this spoke volumes. It was as if the floodgates had opened and all of the assumed feelings were washing over him in one fail swoop. Cyclonus wrapped a protective arm around his middle and pressed them chest to back. The berth was small but they fit together. 

In that moment they both had run out of things to say. Even Tailgate with his ever working and worrying mind. The warm arm around his middle and soft vents by his ear were all the words he needed, and he heard them loud and clear.   

There were some days when the silence was deafening. 

This was not one of those days. 

  
  



End file.
